The Viking's Secret Heir - Chapter two

Magnus rested against a tree and tried to catch his breath. His clothing felt tight and burned his skin. Wincing, he took out his dagger and cut impatiently at the cloth of his tunic. The fabric fell away, dropping to the forest floor.

Cool air bathed his chest and he sighed with relief, the blade slipping from his numb fingers. He twisted his neck to see the wound at the top of his shoulder and cursed. Blood and yellow pus were oozing through his bandage. It didn’t make sense—it was only a flesh wound. He had recovered from far worse, but for some reason this cut had begun to fester and he could already smell the rot.

He pushed away from the trunk with a deep breath that made his head spin and his stomach lurch. Not far now, then you can rest. She might even tend to you.

The thought of her gave him strength, and he walked a little further up the mountain path towards Heimdall’s cabin. The trapper preferred to live away from the settlement, and so, it appeared, did Kendra.

Kendra. Heimdall’s beautiful Saxon slave, with her nut-brown hair and silver eyes. During the spring festival, Magnus had spent an unforgettable night with her. Her master had been too drunk to notice them slip away together, and it had been the best night of Magnus’s life.

Their lovemaking had been wild and passionate, Kendra’s hunger for him insatiable and frantic. But then she had returned to Heimdall as if nothing had happened between them. Ignoring him, as she might ignore a bothersome fly. Magnus had quickly realised his infatuation was entirely one-sided.

Give her the gold and then leave her be—that’s what she wants. He tapped the purse at his belt, not noticing he’d accidentally cut the leather when handling his knife.

Magnus wished he’d given it to her sooner—before she’d left yesterday. But he had fallen asleep not long after she had gone. He had thought it was from the feasting ale and tiredness, but now he realised it was sickness caused by his wound.

His vision began to blur as he crested the hill and he stumbled against another tree. He did not hear the belt snap or the purse fall away. He was too focused on the cabin up ahead.

It was only a hundred feet away, but the cabin began to twist and multiply in front of his eyes as waves of nausea washed over him.

He thought he saw Kendra but, like a dream, she shone with a hazy golden light.

Swallowing down bile, he staggered forward, weaving as he walked. His legs gave way before he reached the clearing, and he tumbled to the side and into the forest. Bracken crunched beneath him as he rolled, and when he knocked his wounded shoulder against a rock, agony and blackness enveloped him.

Only one word filled his mind as he sank into nothingness: Kendra.